Kids Can't Go To Hell, Right?
by blueteaful
Summary: You are Y/n L/n, and you are a serial killer based in Louisiana. On the night of Mardi Gras, you are finally apprehended and killed. After death, you are met with an entirely different world as well a different look. What will happen when you venture into a hotel meant for redemption? Can you be redeemed? What hardships will you face? I guess you have to read to find out!
1. Prologue

You ran through the backstreets of New Orleans, panting quietly, rain splashing under your feet. Upbeat jazz resounded from somewhere in the neutral ground and the parade goers chanted for the floats. It was the middle of Mardi Gras and the city was alight as ever. You should be celebrating the upcoming Fat Tuesday by eating King Cake, and getting fun trinkets and beads thrown at you from floats like everyone else.

But you aren't everyone else. You're Y/n, a Cajun serial killer, and in the midst of the Mardi Gras festival you are being chased by a grieving family member of your last victim. This time was the same as every other time. You were dressed in fairly typical New Orleans streetwear. A plaid jacket, awhite button up tucked into baggy jeans held up by black cross back suspenders that have an intricate fleur de lis pattern, paired with normal running shoes. In order to fit in with the crowd tonight, you were wearing a skull shaped Mardi Gras mask with feathers jutting out of the left side. You had worn the mask out on murder sprees before, and felt comfortable wearing it. But maybe you shouldn't have taken that risk tonight. Maybe if you hadn't have worn the mask, you could have gotten away from the crime scene without a hitch. But no. This woman had caught you on your way out the window. And now that you were wearing the mask, you stuck out like a sore thumb.

Your quickly conceived plan was to lead the woman to a corner of an alleyway, then get the upper hand and kill her. It is suffice to say that this did not happen. You abruptly stopped at a wall and turned, expecting her to be several feet behind you. She was closer. A lot closer. As you turned, you were stabbed in one fluid upwards motion of the woman's hand. You looked down, shocked at the incredible amount of blood flowing from the wound in your stomach. You fell to your knees, blood dribbling down your chin. You tried to stifle a cough and failed, spraying blood all over the woman's shoes. She stared down at you in disgust, probably hoping to watch you die painfully then report the death to the cops. Groaning, you pulled the knife from your stomach. You reached out and yanked on her leg hard enough for her to fall. She scrambled to get up, but you lunged at her. You were using your last bit of strength to kill this woman. She frantically kicked and screamed, but you wasted no time in plunging the knife into the general area of her heart, then yanked it out and did it again. After the second stab, you couldn't muster up anymore strength. You meekly flung yourself off the dying woman and drug yourself away a few feet. Then you ceased movement, looking at the concrete as you had your dying thoughts.

Sixteen years. Sixteen years, and only eight had been spent killing people. Torturing animals was long in the past at this point. Who have you become? Were you happy about your life? Yes. You were feared by many, not all, but many. You cough up more blood and hear the splashes of people running in the distance. The noise fades and the world blurs away. Cold settles in your body along with a pleasant numbness. Damn, you were going to miss seafood gumbo.


	2. Chapter One

Your back hits the ground with a thud, resulting in the wind getting knocked out of you. Wheezing and moaning, you try to suck in some kind of air. Passerby either laugh or ignore you, but you're too busy clutching your chest to worry about that. Once your breathing stabilizes, you take a moment to collect your thoughts. What just happened? You were stabbed in a New Orleans alleyway. You had died. Had you been saved? Or was this the afterlife? Only one way to find out. You took another deep breath and forced yourself to stand. Strangely enough, you felt a tad different that how you had before. Feeling around your face for your mask, you discover that yes, it is there. But it's resting without a string. You turn your head to a nasty looking shop window and investigate yourself. The feathers that adorn your mask are still shining in vibrant Mardi Gras colours. You are wearing the same outfit you were before, except there is now new necklaces to pair with it. The Haitian voodoo necklace is shorter with handcrafted beads placed on a thick string. Teeth of animals as well as feathers are in between some beads. In the center is a carved skull. It appears to be made of real bone. There are three Mardi Gras necklaces as well. Black and gold fleur de lises pop out against purple, yellow, and green plastic beads. As you gaze at your reflection, you notice that your eyes seem to be a greyish-purple colour. It's hard to see under the mask, but they contrast quite well to your dark skin and hair. You tilt your head, is that a gold piercing? Oh wait, you had that before. Someone shoved into you and you break out of your trance.

Right, you needed to find a clue as to where on Earth you were. If you were even on Earth. The people here, did not look nice. Come to think of it, the people here didn't look like people at all. Contorted, weird attributes, and was that man levitating something? This was not Earth. Your heartbeat sped up a little as you looked at the creatures. At first, it was from fear and confusion. But that quickly gave way to curiosity and excitement. What do the insides of these creatures look like? Was their blood different colours? You found a murderous thrill in the possibility of dismembering one of these people. Could they even die if they were already dead? Would the torture last forever? Could you get away with it easier? Oh the sickening prospects and sinister buzz that clouded your mind as you walked. It was wonderful.

"Hey kid! I'm fuckin' talkin' to ya!" Was the sound that broke your euphoric thoughts. You looked at the person talking to you. It was a man who seemed to be some form of an anthropomorphic cat with wings. He's holding a bag of presumably groceries. You couldn't help but feel a little annoyed at the sudden interruption. Smiling at the stranger nonetheless, you tilt your head, "Sowry 'bout dat, where y'at minou?" The stranger furrows his rather large eyebrows, "Uh..what?" You sigh a little, mentally correcting the sentence, then speaking a simplified version out loud, still in a thick accent, "Whad'ya need?"

"I was askin' what the fuck a kid like you is doin' down here," the man says.

"Where's hea 'xactly?"

"Hell! Kids aren't s'posed to be down here!"

"Ah see, mais I must've been a real coonass up dere."

"What-Jesus just-do y'got someplace to stay?"

You think on that for a second, no you don't have a place to reside, but did you need one? You had lived many years in the open woods of Louisiana, jumping from campsite to campsite occasionally. Well, maybe you could find some fun in a new place to live. "Nah, I ain't got a house or anythin' right nah, jus' fell from the gahddamn skah n' landed n' the sahdwalk," you lament.

The cat man doesn't look amused, "You've gotta work on your speech, kid. Anyways I've got a place you can stay at for a while. Owners lookin' for new people anyways, so I'm doin' you a favour,"

"Ah owe ya one minou,"

"Whatever, kid."

He leads you to the aforementioned place, you making conversation along the way. "What'd people call ya minou?"

"Husk, and will you stop callin' me that? I don't even fuckin' know what it means."

You introduce yourself as Y/n, and after he grunts in semi-acknowledgement, you two walk in comfortable silence. The both of you arrive at a large hotel. He opens one of the double doors and you step in behind him. The door slams shut behind you both, "Alright kid lets get you checked in or whatever the fuck." He walks behind the reception desk and sets the bag down. "Fill this out," he slides a clipboard over to you. While you're looking over the form, he settles into an old but comfy looking chair and unscrews a bottle of booze. You click a pen and start filling out the clipboard, leaning on the desk. Name is Y/n L/n, date of birth is blah blah blah, date of death is February 16th, unemployed as of now. Interests. What are your interests? You feel like you shouldn't just say 'Well I sure do love to fucking murder people!' So you opted for something else. Something more tame. Something more culturally correlated to you. 'I enjoy watching horror movies and cooking my family's Cajun recipes.'

You slide the clipboard back across the reception desk to Husk, who gives it a once over after he takes a swig of his drink. He grumbles and puts the clipboard back in a desk drawer, then fumbles around another drawer for a key. As this is happening, a blonde woman walks into the hotel lobby, "Oh good, I thought I heard you walk in, Husk!" She walks over and grabs the grocery bag with a smile. "Have any trouble getting it?"

"They're just groceries, so no, I didn't have any trouble getting them. You shoulda paid me more cause I picked up a new person on the way back," he gestures to you before taking another swig of his drink. "Oh my gosh! Hello! Welcome to the Happy Hotel! I am so psyched to have you here!" She gets really close to your face. Too close for comfort, but you tolerate it. "My name is Charlie! I'll take you on a tour of the hotel and we can meet all the people and oh my gosh! I didn't even ask your name! What's your name?" You take a step back, as she is only getting increasingly closer. You clear your throat, "Y/n, 'sa pleasure to meet ya Charlie," She backs off and regains her composure with a grin. Husk throws some keys across the table and Charlie grabs them. "Alright! Let me give you the grand tour!" She grabs your hand and you find yourself wanting to yank your hand away, but have some self-restraint. You try to keep up a semi-friendly smile. Charlie leads you upstairs, and the two of you pass a young lady with grey-ish purple skin and long white hair. Charlie introduces you to her, and vice versa. The girl, Vaggie, kisses Charlie on the cheek before continuing her trek down to the lobby. The next stop is your room, which is unpleasantly dull. You'd have to spice things up as time goes on. Charlie must have noticed your slight grimace, and patted your shoulder reassuringly, "Don't worry, we'll make it neat in here soon, all you have to do is tell me some of the stuff you're interested in!" You looked around the room once more, trying to imagine it decked out in Mardi Gras beads and voodoo skulls. White walls with peeling paint wasn't your idea of a homely room, but you definitely felt that you could fix it up.

The next stop was a bright pink door decorated with lights. Charlie knocked, then yelled through the door, "Hey Angel? We've got a new member at the hotel and I'm introducing them to everyone! Can you come out for a sec?" There was a groan, footsteps, then fumbling with the doorknob. Angel, as you had picked up, was some kind of pink anthropomorphic spider. Also, you think you saw him on a poster on the way over to the hotel. "Why the fuck do I gotta say hi to every piece of shit that wanders into-oh," he looks down to you.

"Charlie." he says.

"Yeah Angel?"

"Is that a fuckin' kid?"

Charlie finally takes a second to actually give you a long look. "Woah, woah, yeah, I didn't notice that before. How old are you?" She asks you, eyebrows furrowed. "Ah'm sixteen, and ah jus' gawt hea today from the ovahworld, is dat awright? Am ah breakin' some kinda law er somethin'?"

"Um, no, not technically. It's just really uncommon to see children down here."

"Yeah!" Says the pink spider, "What the hell did ya do to get put down here? You musta been some kinda sicko."

"Angel! Don't be rude!"

"Ah ain't gonna say ya'll're wrong, ah did some pretty messed up stuff, oui,"

"Damn, well I ain't gonna press for details, but welcome to the hotel," he shakes your hand with all four of his. You accept the handshake, but get the sensation that you need to wash your hands immediately after. He seemed nice, but something about him was a little off to you. The door closes, and just as Charlie starts talking about the next person in the hotel, she is interrupted by tiny skittering footsteps. A small creature comes up and shakes your hand frantically, "Hi! I'm Niffty! You must be new here! Golly I hope you keep your room clean because hoooooo boy! I have enough on my hands already! Oh! I've gotta go, bye stranger!" She stops shaking your hand and runs away. You blink in confusion as you try to process what just happened. Charlie only chuckled, "That was Niffty, she's a little sporadic," You acknowledge that fact with a small shrug and a "Hm."

"Anyways, next up on our meet n' greet list is Alastor! I don't know if he's here right now, but we can go look anyway." She leads you to a door that is painted a deep crimson red. You get ominous vibes from just standing outside the closed entrance. Charlie knocks without hesitation, however, "Hey Al? You in there? We've got a newcomer and-"

"One moment my dear!" interrupts Charlie through the door. The voice was strangely...filtered in some way. Almost as if it was coming through an old radio. Your eyes subconsciously narrowed behind your mask. For the first time since you arrived in Hell, you checked your coat pockets for your knife, and discovered that your pockets were actually quite full. You weren't sure what was in there, and made a mental note to check later. You had to be defenseless for this encounter. After a few moments the door opened, and in the frame stood a man dressed in a lot of red. There was black in certain places to contrast the red, and as you reached his hair you realized that he had deer ears. They twitched as he eyed you up and down. The most intimidating thing about him at the moment was his grin, which got wider as he observed your style. "Why hello there newcomer! My name is Alastor, what brings you to the hotel today?" He doesn't shake your hand, which you're kind of grateful for after all the touching from the other hotel guests. "Ah, de minou in de front room, Husk, said ah could live hea,"

"Hm," he remarks, smile never fading, "I suppose you've just dropped into Hell today, yes?"

"Oui, ah gawt stabbed durin' a trip near neutral New Orleans, shoulda been more careful,"

The demon reaches out a hand to gently touch the Mardi Gras coloured feathers, his grin turns a little more sincere. "Is it already Mardi Gras? How was the celebration?" he inquires. "Glad ya axed, 'cause ah past the parade durin' the first week, stayed fer a few days, and jus' as ah was plannin' mah way back to de Bayou, ah gawt caught red handed by some mistress," you purse your lips in annoyance. "I take it you're Cajun then? Or Creole?" Alastor asks. Charlie is intrigued by the amount of interest the radio demon is showing in the newcomer, but doesn't want to intrude and politely excuses herself to the lobby. "Ah'm Cajun, oui," you answer, disconcerted at the disappearance of Charlie. "An ya?"

"I am also Cajun! Though I'm sure times have changed since the 1920's!"

"Ah'm sure dey have," You were mildly interested in continuing this conversation, but perhaps at a later date.

"Well my dear, I'm sure you're going to be busy preparing your new room and such! Perhaps we'll see each other again later, but for now I am also busy. What did you say your name was?"

"Ah didn't, but Y/n," you replied.

"Well Y/n, we're going to have to work on your slang at some point!" He steps backwards into his room and waves, "Bye for now, laissez les bon temps rouler!" The door closes without him touching it. You need several minutes and some tea to comprehend what just happened. It was a lot to take in. You sauntered to your dull room and sat on the provided bed. Shaking off your coat, you stretch and lay the coat out in front of you. You turn out the pockets and place each item you find on the bed. A deck of cards, a few small animal skulls, a knife with a powerful aura, a pocket sized voodoo ritual book, some teeth, and some random sticks and herbs. Only a few of these things were from your past life. The deck of cards, the animal skulls, and the ritual book were familiar. Everything else was new. The dagger was similar to your previous one, but different. It had a black blade, the guard had a small skull carved into it. The handle itself had several veves engraved into it. The ritualistic symbols seemed to give the dagger an aura of mystery, and you couldn't wait to try it out. The deck of cards didn't have a very powerful aura, but you were sure it could be easily influenced by some spells. You reach into your pants pockets as well, just to be sure that all pockets are checked. And you come up with a wad of cash with an unfamiliar currency symbol and a lighter similar to the knife design. You flick it on, then let the flame die. You pocket everything except the sticks, herbs, and animal skulls. You crack your neck and back, then settle into a relaxed position on the bed, hoping a nap will help clear your thoughts.


	3. Chapter Two

The world is blurry when you open your eyes. A familiar scene slowly fades in. You're sitting in your room, trying not to cry over your swollen ankle and scraped up knees. Your momma is bandaging your knees. As your tears threaten to spill over, your momma gently scolds, "Nah hunny, quit'cher cryin', yous is stronger dan a couple a scrapes," she finishes wrapping your knees, then goes down to your ankle. You nod and harshly swallow your cries, stiffly wiping away the few tears that had escaped on your sleeve. There is silence as she makes sure the bone isn't broken, then wraps that as well. "Awright sha, go an' wash up for suppa, we got some po' boys to eat," she stands and smiles at you. You smile back, "Danks momma," then you walk past her, albeit a little jaggedly, to the bathroom to wash up. "Be careful on dat ankle nah," she exclaims as you pass. Your words of acknowledgement are muffled as the scene fades away around you. Turning around in infinite space, your mind feels incredibly fuzzy. Then you're suddenly on the ground once more. You feel that you're a little taller than before. The ground slips out from under you as you're pushed onto the wet ground. The perpetrators cackle as you lift yourself up, spitting out mud. "Leave me 'lone! I ain't dun nothin' t'ya'll!" you shout as you try to steady yourself.

"Mah paw said dat ya too much of a fraidy-cat to stay for da' rituals, n' he was right!" says the blurred out figure of a boy talking to you.

"Yea! Yer just a big ol' yellow belly! Y'can't even look atta dead fly, let 'lone a whole hog!" a blurry female speaks. They giggle and advance to push you once more, but a gruff voice resounds from the back door of the other children's house. "Y'all chirren bettah not be scufflin' out there, y'hear? C'mon in for suppah!"

"Comin' paw!" The boy flashes an impish grin at you before his sister grabs his arm and runs to their house. You wipe some mud off your face, it's practically redundant since your arm is already coated in the substance. Footsteps sloshing in the rain and mud, you start to head back home. The scene fades, bringing you back to the peaceful void. Your mind is still in a haze, and you can't dwell on the scene for too long before the next one appears.

"I'm gonna show 'em different, momma," you say at the dinner table. She puts down her spoon, raising a brow at you, "Y'don't gotta change yaself for other, nastier chirren, baby."

"I can't stand bein' a sucha milksop anymore! Ev'ryone pokes fun at me, an' I wanna prove 'em wrong!" You stir your gumbo with your spoon, not bothering to eat it. Your eyebrows are tightly knit together in irritation.

"Quit talkin' bout yaself like dat, y'fine jus' da way y'are. Now simmer down an' eat'cha gumbo 'fore it gets cold," she picks up her spoon and takes a bite of the stew. You stare at the meal with an ire gaze. As you pick up the spoon, you imagine the chunk of chicken is that boy from nextdoor, chopped up and cooked. You shove the meat into your mouth and the scene abruptly ends.

A groan comes from your mouth at your sudden awakening. For a moment, your eyes search your surroundings, befuddled at the room you are in. The memories from the day before set into place and you let out a sigh, then look at the door, which is what had awoken you. You get up, your feet padding across the cold floor to the door, rubbing your face, then opening it. There stands Charlie, who looked like she was just about to walk away. She grins, "Hey Y/n, sorry to wake you, but breakfast is ready and I'm sure after all that happened yesterday you've gotta be super hungry, so I just thought I'd let you know!" that was a bit of a ramble. You smile back, "Thank'ya Charlie, uh.." you trail off, looking at your ruffled clothes. Unsightly. "I'll be down right aftah I get m'self proper," Charlie seems pleased with this answer and starts walking away, "Cool! See ya in a bit!" You gently close the door, then maneuver your way to the bathroom door, taking off your suspenders and unbuttoning your shirt on the way. Stepping inside the bathroom and shutting the door, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You are still covered in dirt from yesterday. The mask remains on your face, and you remember that you haven't actually looked under it since you've been in Hell. You quickly shake off your button up, then your necklaces, shoes, socks, then your jeans, and finally your undergarments. Getting closer to the mirror, you ignore your otherwise fully naked form and focus on the skull shaped mask adorned with vibrant feathers. You attempt to take off the mask, and discover that it seems to be connected to you almost like an extremely strong magnet. Muttering a curse, you pull at it a little harder. It stays on. After a few minutes of you trying to get the mask off with no success, you huff in frustration. "I don't want y'on," you mumble angrily as you pull at the sides of the mask. As if heeding your words, the mask falls off of your face and hits the sink with a few loud clatters. You stare in shock at the mask for a moment before picking it up and setting it on top of your clothes gently. Finally, you can look at your face in the mir-oh. Your cheeks and forehead are covered in a thick layer of grime and blood. How strange. Huffing, you try not to think about it and look away, turning on the shower. After adjusting it to the right temperature, you step in and allow the water to relax you for a bit. Humming a familiar song, you scrub all the grime and dirt off of your body, then step out and dry off. You were vaguely unsatisfied that your clothes would still be covered in dirt, but that was better than wearing no clothes. After drying off your face, you wipe away the steam from the mirror to get a good look at your face. Touching your cheeks, you gaze in awe at the newfound marks. Underneath all of that grime is more than a few veves, otherwise known as voodoo symbols. At first glance, they appear to be engraved into your skin, and yet it is smooth, as if it was absorbed into the skin. A faint green glow from the symbols contrast against your flesh, setting it just barely alight. You touch the symbols, unable to get enough of the pretty glow. You recall that you have places to be, and reluctantly begin getting dressed. After smoothing out the clothes as best as you can, you adjust your hair and pick up the mask once more. "Can y'get back on nah?" you ask as you quirk a brow at the mask, holding it to your face. It latches on with whatever spiritual force lies within it, and you check yourself in the mirror one last time before exiting the bathroom. You put on your coat and step out into the hotel hallway. Still trying to give your clothes a semblance of being ironed, you step into the lobby, where a few of the residents are still eating. You don't recognize any of the people, and look around for someone you do know. Luckily for you, you see Charlie chatting with Vaggie, who seems to be drinking coffee. Satisfied that you would have someone to talk with after you grabbed some food, you wandered over to the counter. As the scent of food fills your nose, you realize just how hungry you are. Not to mention that it seems you can smell quite a bit better since entering Hell. You cracked your neck and grabbed a plate, deciding on a piece of toast, some scrambled eggs, and a glass of orange juice. Your nose twitched a little as you smelled something familiar. You looked around and eyed a plate of beignets. Strange, but not strange enough for you to question it. You add one to your plate, then find your way to Charlie and Vaggie. Vaggie waves and Charlie turns her attention towards you, "Hey, good to see you're up and about! I'm super excited to tell you about the hotel! I'm pretty sure Husk didn't tell you much about it," she nervously smiles. You nod, signalling for her to continue as you shove a forkful of eggs into your mouth. She proceeds to tell you about the purpose of the hotel, how Hell is overpopulated and every year more people die. She says the hotel is meant to rehabilitate sinners and redeem them so they can go to Heaven. You nod in acknowledgement as you take in the new information. Unfortunately, you don't think you can be redeemed, but Charlie doesn't need to know that. She seemed so passionate about this project, and it would be tragic to suppress her dreams by telling the truth. Plus, you weren't too interested in the whole prospect of Heaven, after all, you can't kill or eat people in Heaven. Which reminded you, you had no idea how the people of Hell react to bloodshed. Did they have prisons to lock up particularly bad criminals? You doubted it. You'd have to find out later. Tuning back into the conversation, you hear Vaggie mentioning how "Just because Alastor can cook well doesn't mean he can be trusted, Charlie." This catches your attention. When you met the demon last night, you hadn't been able to pin his personality down. Your plate is clean, but you still remain standing, listening in. Charlie is halfway defending Alastor and halfway agreeing with Vaggie. You watch her fumble for another reason to trust the demon other than "He's helped so much!" and Vaggie doesn't seem to be buying it.

"Ah don't know much about 'im, but he don't seem too bad," you jump in. Vaggie shakes her head, "You wouldn't know since you just dropped in, but Alastor is pure evil. He's terrorized Hell for decades and his power is unmatched by most-if not all-demons. He kills people for fun," She puts a hand on your shoulder, "I know you probably don't trust me Y/n, but don't interact with Alastor. He's dangerous," She takes her hand off your shoulder and you ponder on this new information for a little bit. Charlie doesn't seem to have an argument, which probably means that Vaggie is telling the truth. She seemed genuine enough. You smile at Vaggie, "Thank'y for the warnin', Ah'll be sure ta be careful, so don't worry 'bout dat!" You were absolutely not going to be careful. This sounded like a rather amusing thing to exploit, if you could do it properly. You waved goodbye to the two girls, then searched for a kitchen. Upon discovering it empty, you took your plate and fork to the sink and started to wash them. You didn't feel inclined to, but you just happened to be far too deep in thought to realize that you had picked up another dish and started washing. What a strange world this was. So many interesting people and things. Magic was a reality, and a common occurrence at that. Could you do magic one day? Perhaps. You'd have to try some rituals later. Soon, there were only a few dishes left, and you were ripped from your thoughts by a presence looming over you.

"Well what do we have here? I do believe you are a patron, and not staff, my dear!"

You feel your face flush in embarrassment. Oh. People staying at hotels aren't supposed to do their own dishes, let alone everyone else's. You take a moment to compose yourself while finishing the last dish and turning the water off, "'Sa force'a habit, désolé," you add a meaningless apology at the end. Turning on your heel, you face his grin with a small smile of your own. His grin widens, "It's quite alright, darling!" You can't help but notice how he somehow pronounces everything with exclamation points. He stands there, static buzzing quietly, staring at you with his big grin plastered onto his face. That made you nervous, but you just force a wider smile, "Awright, Ah'll be takin' mah leave den," Stepping to the side, you start to make your way to the exit. He steps in front of you, effectively blocking your path, "No, stay! I could sure use your help around here!" Your eyebrows furrow and your smile falters a little.

"Mah help? Why would'ja need mah help?" you eyed him suspiciously, smile fading slowly.

"Well, I find myself in the unfortunate position of being the only chef in the establishment! I'm sure you could help out in the kitchen!" His grin stretches wider as he notices your growing discomfort. He was taking amusement from this. You assess the situation in your head. If you accept, that's a lot of time with this creep. But would you be getting paid? That wad of money in your coat pocket wouldn't last forever. As if reading your thoughts, Alastor leans on his microphone, "You'd be getting paid a decent sum of money for your efforts, of course." He knows what you'll answer. You mull over the offer for a few more seconds before letting out a long exhale through your nose, "When d'ah start?"

"Tomorrow!" he steps out of the way and leads you to the doorway, shoving you out into the lobby, "That should give you plenty of time to settle in completely! See you tomorrow morning, 6 o'clock sharp, Niffty will wake you!" the kitchen door closes behind you. For the record, no-one can settle in somewhere in two days. Especially not you. You exhaled a breath that you didn't know you had been holding. As you begin walking away, Alastor opens the door once more, "Oh, and find some new clothes to get all dolled up in, won't you? Those look positively drab!" You narrow your eyes as the door slams shut once again. Muttering a curse under your breath, you run full on into something-no-someone fluffy.

"Aw gosh, ah'm sorry, wasn't lookin' where ah was goin'," you explain as you look up to see Angel. He shrugs and offers a half-smile, "Ehh no biggie I don't mind, I saw Al in the door there," he laughs a little, "Smiles already bein' a pain in the ass?" You nod, "He always like dat?"

"Yeah," he yawns, stretching four arms upward, "But that's just his thing, he likes bein' annoying for shits n' giggles,"

"Great," you remark, rolling your eyes. You'd have to work with an annoying man-child for who knows how long. "Good seein' ya toots, catch ya later okay?" The spider demon offers you a half smile and walks past you. You wave and continue on your way to the front door. You were going to go find a place to purchase some cleaner clothes. You'd probably keep the same basic clothing design, you decided, but perhaps some leisure clothing as well. As you open the hotel doors, you hope that you can find your first victim whilst you're out. A small grin passes your features at this thought. You straighten your back, crack your knuckles, and begin your search.


	4. Chapter Three

Finding clothes that you like proves to be harder than you initially thought. All the shops are run down, nasty, or sell clothes that show way too much skin. Fortunately enough, there is a small shop selling decent attire as well as leisure and winter wear. As you open the door and enter, your eyes flicker around the quaint establishment. The store is divided into sections of mens, womens, and unisex apparel. You choose two new button-up shirts, one in light blue and a white one with purple stripes. Additionally, you get a new pair of jeans and decide that you are perfectly content with the suspenders you already own. You wander over to the unisex leisure section and find a pair of sweatpants and two casual shirts that may be a tad too big for you. Then you grab new pairs of underwear, obviously including not only normal socks, but fuzzy socks. Pursing your lips, you decide this was more than enough for the time being and head to the checkout. You make idle smalltalk with the cashier as she rings up your order. This costs about half of your money stash. No biggie, you suppose as you pocket the cash and exit the store.

You had originally intended to head back to the hotel, but before you know it, you are wandering off in a random direction. If anyone were to ask you, you would have sworn you had just wanted to take in the scenery and familiarize yourself with Hell. However, in truth, you aren't sure why you start walking down the streets. Curiosity, perhaps. As your mind ponders on pointless things, you catch a whiff of something. You can't quite place it, but the scent brings a flicker of power somewhere inside you. It quickly fades, and you take a not-so-casual left turn into an alley, chasing after the scent with a brisk walking pace. You grip the bags of clothes tightly as you search, eyes flickering from left to right rapidly. Catching the scent again, you sprint in the direction, navigating through back alley streets and nearly tripping on trash that litters the roads. Slowing your pace, you finally hear faint whispers nearby.

The smell is stronger than ever. You gently, quietly set your bags down, then peer into a small corner of the alley, sectioned off with overfilled dumpsters. Your eyes immediately lock onto a demon with an arm wound that is gushing a viscous red substance. That's what's making you salivate and bringing you those fleeting sensations of power. Letting out a small, shaky breath, you slowly begin circling the dumpsters until you find a crack large enough for someone to squeeze through. The demon is preoccupied on their phone, speaking in hushed tones, seemingly calling for help. The person on the other end seems annoyed, but compliant. The sweet aroma invaded your senses. You are overcome with an overwhelming sense of want.

In your human life, you had dabbled in cannibalism here and there. Only every so often would you kill someone and eat part of them. Human blood never came across as so enthralling. The aroma is getting under your skin, tingling, and eating away at your self control. It's a new experience, one that you will be sure to cherish. Your fingers grip the handle of your knife, fingers twitching as you keep your breathing steady and quiet. The demon is getting a little antsy on the phone, caught up in a short argument. Your breath hitches as the demon paces near your hiding spot. Unable to stop the twisted grin that forms itself upon your features, you wait a few more seconds, gripping the knife a little tighter. Then you strike. You launch yourself onto the demon, sending their phone skidding across the pavement. They let out a surprised noise as they hit the ground. You manage to straddle them so as to get a better angle to pin them down. As they struggle, you have trouble doing just that, as they are quite strong. But without the use of their left arm, they are having trouble doing much damage. They manage to get one hard hit to your face in. You want to flinch, but force yourself to stay in the same position. You finally bring the knife down into their chest. They seize, body arching as they scream. Covering their mouth, you pull the knife out and stab again. As you listen to the serenade of their muffled screams and the wet plunge of your knife sinking into them over and over again, you can't contain your grin. You were ruining your old clothes, and made a mental note to spend time washing them out with peroxide later. When the struggles finally cease, and all they can do is breathe shallowly, you pull the knife out for a final time. You are breathing heavily as you get off of them, still on your knees. You inspect the blood coated knife. You lick the sides of the blade before setting it on the concrete. The warm, coppery liquid coats your tongue, tingling on your tastebuds. It tastes fantastic.

Your tongue runs across your teeth, sharpened to a point ever since you entered hell. They can be of great use. You lean in to the demons neck, inspecting it for a moment or two, tilting it to the side. In one quick motion you sink your teeth deep into the demons neck, attempting to puncture the carotid artery. You barely nick it, but the straining and sudden tension from the demon under you seems to assist in puncturing it. The last remnants of blood from the dying demon beneath you seep into your mouth, running in rivulets down your chin. You swallow the warm substance greedily, only stopping to tear away the piece of skin and chew it until it's in swallowable pieces. This task is surprisingly easy, given the sharp teeth. You enjoy the taste a lot more than you did as a human. It tastes a bit like how you'd expect raw meat would taste. You suppose that's viable since it technically is raw meat. What would it taste like cooked? You entertain that thought as you bite into the demons flesh once more.

After the short time span of ten minutes, you pull back completely from the now deathly still demon. Breathing heavily, you inspect the damage. Their neck is mutilated, even showing bone in some parts. You want to take some of the demon home with you. Certainly the flesh would taste fantastic when cooked. Especially if it tastes so great when it's raw. Feeling invigorated, you grab your knife once more and carve out a few medium sized pieces of the demon. Hands soaked in blood, you wipe the knife on your already bloodied shirt, then pocket it. After you do this, you drag the demon to the corner of the alleyway and prop him against the wall. You aren't entirely sure if you need to clean the body. You figure that since it's Hell, there probably wasn't much of a law system in place anyways. So you decide against cleaning the body, surely he won't be terribly missed. You wipe your hands off as best as you can, take the new clothes out of one bag and put them with the other clothes. This leaves you with a bag full of clothes, and one empty bag. You place the meat in there and walk out of the alleyway with a newfound feeling of confidence and power. Eyes scanning the streets for a place to wash yourself clean of blood, you settle on a dilapidated gas station. Ignoring the cashier's mumbling as you walk in, you head straight for the bathroom. You neglect to set your bags on the frankly abhorrent floor, instead opting to hold them further on your arms. It was less efficient, but you'd rather not catch something from the bathroom. You turn on the sink and cleanse your arms and hands as best as you can. You take off your mask to clean it and yourself but stop when you see the blank wall above the sink. The bathroom doesn't have a mirror, so you hope that you clean off most of the blood from your face, if not all. You put your mask back on hastily as you hear footsteps approaching the door. Some demon walks into the bathroom, so you make haste in leaving, eyes trained straight ahead as you pass the other. You can feel their eyes burning into the back of your skull as you exit. They were most likely staring due to the steadily drying blood staining your clothes. Which you neglected to change out of before the demon entered. How would you ever explain the sheer amount of red on your person? Of course you couldn't tell the truth. You'd probably never be let out of the hotel again. Maybe you could just slip to your room unnoticed. You'd hope for that.

Your thoughts drifted into recollection of the murder. In truth, normally such a quick murder would be boring. Usually you'd spend a decent amount of time torturing them before they passed. But you had craved the lifeblood of that demon far too much to focus on making his death extremely painful. It was a strange occurrence, and you'd make sure that it wouldn't happen again anytime soon. Your thoughts tame as you arrive at the hotel doors and enter. The few patrons that are in the lobby are chatting idly with each other. You keep your eyes trained on the stairs, ensuring no-one would make eye contact with you on the way to your room. Of course, nothing like this ever pans out properly. You nearly bump head on into Charlie, who barely even gives you a once over before panicking, "Oh my god! What the Hell happened? Are you okay? Do you need help?" The rapid-fire questions almost make your head hurt. Plus it's drawing the attention of the other patrons to you, which isn't exactly ideal. You take a moment to make sure you tone down your accent in a way she'll understand.

"Nah, I'm fine, I got inta a bit of a scrap wit' someone, just need a shower and then I'll clean up ma clothes," you pat her shoulder a little as you brush past her without giving her a chance to answer, "But thanks, Charlie,"

Hopefully she bought that and didn't think you were too rude. Speaking of rude, a certain red demon is watching you climb up the stairs from the end of the hall. He peers at you with a wide grin, eyeing up and down, narrowing his eyes at your messy attire. His grin widens when he notices the bag that contains no clothes clutched in your hand, "My my, you've come back looking even more dreadful." He remarks, surely hoping to get a crude reaction out of you. You don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction as you unlock the door to your room and enter, hearing him state something about the time you need to be in the kitchen. You hesitate for a moment, squinting before setting your bags down and reopening your door. He's still standing there, grinning at you, "What didju say?"

"Why, I said that I'm changing the time of our initial agreement, and that you will be assisting me tonight at 7:30 sharp."

You take a deep breath in, because that wasn't going to be enough time to clean your clothes properly. Then you exhale, refraining from narrowing your eyes at the deer demon. You nod, "Thanks fer lettin' me know," you say as politely as you can, then start to go back into your room. But the door doesn't close.

"Oh, and,"

You shoot a glare over your shoulder to see him holding the door open, his grin stretching to what must be it's limits.

A shadow grabs the bag of meat that was placed on your floor, then hands it to him, disappearing behind the demon. You open your mouth to interject, but close it when a low static starts buzzing in your ear. He leans in close to you, static steadily growing louder, his voice low and menacing, "You won't be needing this, I presume, if you had simply gotten into a scrap with someone,"

Your glare intensifies, teeth gnashing, hands clenching into a fist, then unfurling itself, then clenching all over again, "Naw. I s'pose I don't," you fulminate, digging your nails into your palm.

"Wonderful!" He returns to his normal demeanor as he straightens his back and waves the bag away into thin air. "I'll see you then, and please do be punctual!" The clacking of his heels resounds in the halls as he leaves. You close the door and huff through your nose, rubbing your eyes. Shimmying off your blood covered coat, you set it on your bed and check the clock on the nightstand. It flashes a bright red 3:56. You can't help but feel annoyed just by the colour, and elect to look away from it. You undress and make your way to the bathroom. You turn on the water and adjust it until it's to your liking. You step under the showerhead, allowing the warmth to consume you and relax your muscles.

After you wash up, you step out and dry off, humming a little tune. You get dressed in your light blue button up and your new pair of jeans. You properly cleaned your mask, getting all the dried blood and grime off of it. Then you placed it on your face, it automatically staying on. You wipe away the steam clouding the mirror to see your hair, only to realize that your eyes are a completely different colour. Pink. Your eyes are pink. You stare for a while, a little startled at the new change. But upon closer inspection, you notice that they have little dark pink plus signs in the middle, where the pupil should be. Suddenly feeling nauseous, you let out a breath and back away from the mirror. As you stare, you hear a faint knocking from your room. Someone is at the door to bother you. You force your eyes away from the mirror, face pale, probably shaking. Then you step out, not-so-ready to face the person knocking at the door.


End file.
